


I Lived my Life Alone Before You

by solopigeon



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Boy Squad, Gay Panic, Hurt no comfort but only sometimes, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jens is a better friend than he is in the actual show, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, The Flatshare Family, background Lucas/jens, mama ijzermans - Freeform, queer art kid sander, robbe's a skater boy, robbe's grandma?? yep she's here too, skam fr squad is mentioned but I'm not gonna tag them or anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solopigeon/pseuds/solopigeon
Summary: Robbe downed the last of his drink, the whisky burning in his throat, and raked the sweaty strands of hair out of his face. And when he looked up, that's when he saw him.Blonde dyed hair. Green eyes. Dark clothes. Silver flashes of jewellery on his fingers and around his neck. A hypnotizing smile.Robbe was never good at making good decisions, and his next move was the worst decision he would ever make.-or- Robbe and sander meet during university, learn the secrets of each other, and work through their past problems in order to try and hold onto their newfound relationship.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	1. I love a good place to hide in plain sight

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this story deals with a lot of trauma based around sexual assault, so I'll be including trigger warnings at the beginning of every chapter.  
> \- TW: non-graphic r*pe/sexual assault, internalized homophobia and panic attacks.

Robbe Ijzermans had never been good at making good decisions. 

He was fucked up, like, seriously fucked up. And he knew that. And he didn't care. 

And well, college wasnt helping him make good decisions either. So why even try? 

It started when he was 13, when he realized that other kid’s parents didn't yell at each other the way his parents did, when he found himself looking at boys the way he should be looking at girls. 

He told himself he was too young to actually know. That was the good thing about being a kid, it was an excuse for everything. Did he have to face the fact that his mom was depressed and his dad was an asshole? No. he could just sleep over at Jen's house and play video games until his eyes felt dead. 

When Robbe was 14, everything changed. His dad fucking left. That piece of shit left them with no explanation, and his mom broke down. It was worse than anything Robbe had ever seen his mom go through. He stayed home from school to try his best to take care of her, but he was a 14 year old boy who knew nothing about anything, and he broke too. He called an institution, signed his mother in. He didn't know what exactly was wrong with her but he knew it was something. 

His dad sent him off to live with his grandparents in France, because while he didn’t want Robbe to go to social services, he also didn't want to be the one to take care of him. 

France fucked him up. 

He remembers sitting in his grandparents house a few days after he moved in, staring at a picture of Jens on his phone. He had been so in love with Jens back then, because Jens was the only person who hadn't left him. And while he wallowed in heartbreak and sadness, Jens was back in Antwerp with his new girlfriend. Robbe hated Jana. Because all of a sudden, Jens didn't answer his calls anymore, he didn't have time for him. 

So Robbe tried to forget about him completely. 

He met some people in his new school. Lucas and Yann and Arthur and Basil. They all skated and were all total shithead stoners so they got along fine, even though Robbe’s french wasn't the best. Arthur somehow was able to get some good weed, and with their parents either working or, in Robbe and Lucas's case, not present at all, they spent most of their nights getting wasted. 

They went to parks and drank stolen alcohol until they blacked out, sprawled over each other, Yann babbling loudly about all the girls in the school. Sometimes they would go to clubs, Robbe would dance with the pretty girls even though his eyes would be on whatever boy he found the most attractive that night. 

He never really acted on it; he couldn't, in front of his friends. 

It wasn't until Robbe was 15, when Lucas showed up to school one day with his new boyfriend, Elliot. He still didn't say anything, even though the guys were supportive and chill about it, he didn't have the guts to. He was still young, so he told himself he didn’t have to deal with the fact that he was gay.

He buried his feelings under swigs of alcohol and clouded them in smoke. He thought of Jens from time to time, of his pointy nose and strong cheekbones, but quickly dispelled those thoughts. It didn't do him any good to dwell on the past. That's what Jens was; the past. 

Robbe was drowning; in regret and sadness and heartbreak and alcohol, and no one noticed. To be fair, he hid it well. He would get up on the weekends and make breakfast for his grandparents, would do his homework and never skipped classes. On the outside, he was completely fine. 

He was not fine.

He was 16, he was in France, he was forgetting about Jens, and that's when he broke. 

He went to clubs with the crew, they all danced and laughed and Robbe got so fucking wasted that he was actually happy. He would see Lucas and Elliott making out in the corner, and he hurt because he wished he could be like that, just be himself, but he couldn't. 

He met this boy. His name was Simon and he was in college. Simon had dark hair and a charming smile, and he made Robbe feel important which was new because Robbe had felt like nobody pretty much his entire life. 

And then one night, Simon kissed him. They were in Simon's dorm room on a Thursday, and Robbe was drunk off his ass. And Simon pushed him back onto the bed and stuck his fingers under Robbe's old t-shirt. Robbe let him, because he had been longing for a boy to touch him in this way, for a boy to notice him and like him like Simon did. And then-

Simon took off his shirt, and Robbe took off his. And Simon's hands were everywhere, on Robbe’s chest, the dips of his waist, undoing his belt. 

It all happened so fast. 

And Robbe was 16, and inexperienced, and drunk, and nervous. 

And he froze, just laying there as Simon kissed him, and undid his belt, and held his hands down, and spread his legs apart. 

He felt the pain as Simon pushed into him, and there were tears pin pricked at the edge of his eyes. He couldn't do anything, couldn't push Simon off of him. 

He left that night, trying to hold himself together. He knew what had happened. He tried to steady his shaky breathing, tried telling himself that it was no big deal. Every step hurt as he walked back to his grandparents house. 

It was late, but somehow when he got home, his grandma was still awake, knitting in her chair while watching some show on the tv. “Robbe? Where were you?” she’d asked when he walked through the door. He paused in the hall, his back to her, shoulder shaking with his uneven breaths. He didn't answer, because he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, he'd start crying. 

“Robbe?” she called again, getting up from her rocking chair. He opened his mouth to breath, and a sob escaped, and then a tear from his eye, and his chest started heaving and he just couldn't stop crying. 

His grandma hugged him as he cried, just before his legs gave out and they both sunk to the floor. She petted his hair, whispering, “oh Robbe, it's ok, it's ok,”

Robbe had felt sadness, heartbreak, loneliness, abandonment, but nothing came close to how empty and fucking broken he felt that night. A part of him had been stripped away. His want to be loved had been taken away. Simon took that from him. And maybe, he thought, it was the only kind of love he could receive, him being how he was and all. Maybe only boys who liked boys could be loved that way.

He drank more, went out more, anything to stop him from feeling. There was a point where he could get drunk enough so that when he fell asleep, the nightmares didn't come. Most nights they did, memories of hands on his body where they didn't belong that caused him to wake up with his heart racing, skin cold with sweat. 

His grandma never asked about that night, and he never told her what happened. 

Then there was Arthur. Arthur was the one with the most sense in the group, besides Robbe himself. He had blond hair that fell over his forehead in soft waves, and tortoiseshell glasses, and cheekbones more pronounced than Jens. Sometimes they went out, just Robbe and Arthur, to some club where the bass was loud enough for Arthur to take out his hearing aids and dance.

And one night, Robbe wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and yelled “I think I like you!” he would never have done it normally, but he was wasted and Arthur was too. He waited a few moments before remembering that Arthur didn't have his hearing aids in. So Robbe pulled back slightly, and held up his hand, middle finger and ring finger tucked into his palm. I love you. 

Arthus looked at him with wide eyes and a goofy smile, and kissed him right there on the dance floor. It was nice to hold Arthur in his arms, have his glasses bump against Robbe’s cheek while they kissed. It was nothing like Simon. 

With Arthur, he could forget all that shit. He forgot about Jens and Simon, about his fucked up life and fucked up family. He forgot about how fucked up he was. Besides the fact that there was a boy in his arms instead of a girl, Robbe felt normal. 

Arthur kissed him in the halls when no one was looking, taught him sign language during afternoons they spent at Robbe’s grandparents house, danced with him in sweaty clubs where they didn't have to hide. It was so nice, for a while, but of course it didn't last. 

Nothing nice ever lasts when it comes to Robbe. 

Him and Arthur were spending the afternoon at his grandparents house one weekend while Robbe’s grandma was out playing cards with her friends. Robbe remembers how Arthur's lips felt as they ghosted across his neck, down to his abdomen. He had tugged off Arthur's shirt, throwing it on the floor next to his own. 

He wasn't thinking about Simon, he was thinking about how much he wanted it, with Arthur. He wasn't thinking about Simon, until Arthur took his hands and pinned them above his head on the bed. 

And Robbe froze, just like he had with Simon. He held his breath as his body started to shake and he instinctively started to panic. 

He couldn’t see, and he couldn’t breath. His mind flashed back to that night, the dark dorm room, heavy hands on his skin. He was drowning, and he couldn't get up to breath 

“Robbe,” Arthur said, “Robbe are you ok?”

And that pulled Robbe back to reality, and somehow he managed to push Arthur off of him and hug his knees to his chest. 

“Is it something that i did?” Arthur asked, looking confused and a little scared. Robbe couldn't answer, couldn't open his mouth to explain, couldn't tell Arthur, the one person he felt safe with, that he had been raped. 

Instead he just choked out a quiet, “get out.” Arthur paused and looked at him, concerned and soft. “What?”

Robbe felt tears start to prick at the edges of his eyes. “Get out,” he said again, a little louder, as a tear fell down his cheek. Arthur nodded and pulled his own shirt on, Robbe watching silently as he pulled on his shoes and put on his jacket. Arthur looked at him, concerned, and tried to put a comforting hand on Robbe’s shoulder, but he flinched away from that as well. 

Robbe watched as Arthur left, still curled shirtless in the corner. He couldn't believe that he had pushed away the one person who actually cared about him, all because he couldn’t get Simon out of his fucking head. His grandma found him still curled up, when she got home an hour later, still shaking, the tears dried on his face. 

He let her hug him, let her make him some tea and gently wrap a blanket around his shaking shoulders. Looking back, Robbe realizes that his grandma was probably the one who saved him. 

After that day, he would go home immediately after school, do his homework, watched baking shows with his grandma and made dinner for the both of them. His friends didn't ask why he never really went out with them anymore, and he didn't tell them just how fucked up he was. 

Him and Arthur talked, and Robbe realized that Arthur was probably the kindest person he’d ever met, because Arthur wasn't mad at him for what had happened, didn't ask about why Robbe acted the way he did. Instead, he just told him that they would probably be better as friends anyway. 

And a year later, he moved back to Antwerp for uni. Ironically, he lived in a dorm with Jens. They had hung out when Robbe got back, and Robbe realized that nothing much had changed about his former best friend. Jens was still loud, still friendly and wild, the only difference was that Robbe was most definitely not in love with him. 

Robbe didn't think he wanted love. He still doesn't. Because he's seen love, and it's shit. He’s seen how his dad treated his mom, how he left and let everything fall apart. He’s seen Simon, felt his hands, and if that was love, he didn't want it. 

At uni, he ignored the girls who flirted with him at parties, didn't let his gaze wander to any of the boys in class or when he went out. 

Sure, he made bad decisions all the time, but he'd learned that love wasn't worth the pain. 

That was, until he saw Sander Driesen. 

Robbe was standing in a crowded room, a party raging around him. He'd lost count of how many drinks he had, he just drank everything Jens offered to him. The air was damp with sweat and smoke, his head was reeling from the claustrophobic atmosphere and alcohol. 

Moyo and Jens were beside him, laughing as Aaron attempted to impress a blonde girl dancing a few feet away, the girl completely ignoring Aaron's pathetic flirting. 

Robbe downed the last of his drink, the whisky burning in his throat, and raked the sweaty strands of hair out of his face. It was getting too long; the unruly brown locks almost reached his shoulders. And when he looked up, that's when he saw him. 

Blonde dyed hair. Green eyes. Dark clothes. Silver flashes of jewellery on his fingers and around his neck. A hypnotizing smile. 

Nothing could make Robbe tear his eyes away from that boy. He watched as the boy, flanked by a girl with dark, sharp-cut hair, and a tall boy with a sheer shirt and unruly brown curls, made his way to the drinks table across the room. He poured all of them drinks, and turned away to talk to someone else. 

Robbe was never good at making good decisions, and his next move was the worst decision he would ever make. He knocked Jens on the shoulder, letting him know that he was going to get another drink, then moved across the room to the drinks table, right next to the boy with the platinum hair. 

Robbe was too intoxicated to be nervous, all he felt was the faint burn of the whisky in his throat, and the unrelenting want to get to know the boy next to him. He poured himself another drink, not really caring if it was gin or whisky or tequila, just giving himself something to do. 

“I don't think you want to drink that.”

Robbe turned, his glass still in hand, to find the boy with platinum hair staring at him. 

“What?”

The boy nodded at the glass in Robbe’s hand. “You don't want to drink homebrewed beer, do you?”

Robbe laughed a little. “I wasn't aware that's what it was.” The boy smiled down at him and grabbed his glass. “I thought so. No one in their right mind would drink that. Here, i'll get you something better.” 

He turned back to the drink table, grabbed a new glass, and started pouring a concoction of alcohol into it. Robbe just watched silently, and accepted the new drink with a small, “thank you.” When he hesitated, the boy nodded at him to take a sip, saying, “Don't you trust me, Rose?” 

Robbe took a sip, his own eyes locked with the piercing green ones of the platinum haired boy. The alcohol burned his throat, not as much as whisky, but a more pleasant, sweet type of burn, that warmed it's way down into his chest, brought color to his cheeks. 

Robbe downed the entire glass, not looking away from the boy for a second. 

“Wow ok,” the boy said, eyebrows raised, “Do you want another one?” 

Robbe would have said yes, would have stayed and talked to that boy the entire night, but he glanced across the room and saw Jens looking at him, along with Moyo, and fear crept up into his throat. He pushed the glass back into the boy’s hand and said, “I have to go,” before walking back to his friends. 

“Who the fuck is that guy you were talking to?” Moyo asked when Robbe reached his friends again. Robbe coughed and said, “No idea, I just went to get a drink.”

He's used to lying; he does it all the time. He lies to his friends almost every day, he lies to his mama, tells her he's fine so she doesn't worry, lies to his grandma, tells her that school is good and that he's doing good. 

But there's some truth, he has no idea who that guy is, only that he's the only person Robbe would ever want to pursue. But Robbe knows he can't; he won't let himself. 

Jens slapped him on the shoulder and said, “let’s go have a smoke, eh?” and Robbe nodded. He wondered if the boys knew that he's lying, if they could see through his entire facade and knew that he likes boys, knew just how fucked up he is. He wondered if one day he could actually be truthful. 

Instead, he followed his friends outside, away from the loud music and the mass of sweaty bodies and the boy with the platinum hair. He needed to get high, to keep up the charade, to not let his mind linger on that boy, to pretend he liked girls. 

You see, Robbe couldn't be himself. Because he had been around Simon, and it had fucked him up forever. The smoke drifted from between his lips, his brain humming numbly. Nothing he did was real. Nothing. He was an actor. In front of Jens and his friends, he was just a dumb stoner skater, someone who liked weed and girls and Tony Hawk. In front of his Paris friends, he was a party animal, scrappy and drunk and a bit more crazy than the rest of them, someone with the penciance for alcohol and staying up all night. In front of his dad, he was a boy who would never be good enough, for his mom, someone who loved her but didnt know how to tell her, and in front of his grandma, he was kind and quiet and sad, someone who couldn’t tell her about his problems, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

He didn't even know who he actually was, underneath all the lying and hiding, the drugs and alcohol. He didn’t know who he was or who he wanted to be. 

He didn't know anything. 

Only that boys like him were doomed. That boys like him were unlovable. He knew that he would continue to make bad decisions until it eventually killed him. 

But as he sat there, smoking with his friends outside in the frigide Antwerp air, he wasn't aware that he had just made the worst decision of his life. 

He wasnt aware that Sander Driesen would fuck up his charade, would turn his life upside down.


	2. I wanted to see the world through your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbe gay panics and so do I. 
> 
> TW for alcohol use

It was Monday, and Robbe was hungover. 

The night before had been interesting to say the least. He hadn't gotten that drunk since Paris actually, since he and the boys would go out during the weekend. He usually didn't drink that much, but last night he had gotten absolutely smashed. 

But yet it was 8 am, and Robbe was at the library studying for his fucking bio test. His mind was heavy and clouded, but he was still trying to focus on the pages in front of him. Trying and failing. The words on the page blurred in front of him, and his eyes felt heavy.

All of a sudden, there was a thud next to his face, and he bolted upright. Yasmina, his study partner, stood above him with her books on the desk next to his face. 

Robbe sat up groaning and rubbing his eyes, "Jesus Yasmina, this is a library, don't be so loud.” Yasmina smiled and sat down beside him and opened her bio textbook. 

“Maybe you shouldn't be so hungover,” she said, flicking Robbe’s cheek. Robbe flinched and rubbed his face with his hands. “Sorry Yasmina.”

He doesn't remember much about last night, only that after the boy with the platinum hair left, he got very, very wasted. He woke up in his and Jens’ dorm room, with a pounding headache, and now he was here, studying with Yasmina, because despite him being fucked up and all, he's still a fucking good student.

“So how was the party last night?” Yasmina asked, taking her notes out of her backpack. Robbe laughed. “Fuck if i know,” he said, “I think it was fun but i got way too wasted.” 

“So what was the occasion?”

“What?” Robbe looked at her, puzzled.

“Well don't people usually have a reason to get really drunk? Like they want to forget about someone, or they have a deep deep sadness within them or something?” Yasmina said. 

Robbe scoffed. “Maybe I wanted to just have a fun night out.”

“You literally just said it wasn't fun,” Yasmina argued. 

“I said i wanted it to be fun, but it turns out it wasnt because i got fucking wasted,” Robbe explained. Yasmina smiled, to let him know that she was just messing with him, and Robbe groaned and put his head in his hands. 

“Fuck Yasmina, i'm too tired to argue, let’s just study in silence, ok?”

“Look at you being all good and respecting the rules of the library,” Yasmina taunted. But soon after that, they settled into working in silence. Yasmina was like the sister Robbe never had. They made fun of each other, fought for who could get the best grades (Yasmina almost always won; even though Robbe was a good student, he still went out way too much to get perfect grades) and Robbe felt like he could be a little more of himself with her. 

After almost an hour of studying, his headache finally faded. Robbe looked up to see that Yasmina was taking very neat notes in her notebook, color coordinated and everything. His tired eyes wandered around the room, only a few students were at the library that early in the morning. 

And then Robbe saw him, for the second time. 

The boy from last night, the boy with platinum hair, was sitting across from him in the library, at a small table. He was less dressed up than last night, just wearing a simple white t-shirt and skinny jeans. Even from far away, Robbe could see that he was wearing doc martens. Probably a fucking art student. Robbe’s suspicion was confirmed when he saw that the boy had a charcoal pencil tucked behind his ear, and was drawing something on a big piece of paper with another one. 

Robbe let his eyes linger. The boy looked so concentrated, his brow furrowed up, headphones in, oblivious to the world around him. There was something about him, something that made Robbe want to know him, want to see just how soft his hair would feel between his fingers. 

It scared Robbe more than he wanted. 

“Who’s that?”

Robbe was startled back to reality, turning to find that it was Yasmina who had spoken.

“Who?” He pretended to be oblivious. 

Yasmina pointed to the boy with the platinum hair. “Him. You were staring at him. Do you know him?” 

If it were Jens, or Moyo, he would have lied. But it wasn't, so Robbe said, “Just a guy I met last night. I don't really know him.”

Yasmina looked at him funny for a second, and then said, “Ok.” 

Robbe raised his eyebrows at her. “Ok.”

Yasmina scoffed and then shoved her notes into his hands. “Ok now quiz me so I'll get a better grade than you.”

“Ha ha, we’ll see about that,” Robbe said, taking the notes and flipping to the first page. 

As he quizzed Yasmina, he looked over at the boy and his eyes were met instead with piercing green ones. Quickly, Robbe looked back down at the notes, pretending like nothing happened. His heart was stupidly fluttering in his chest, just from that one moment of eye contact. And when he dared to look back up at the boy, he found that he was met with a smile. Robbe reluctantly smiled back, before going back to quizzing Yasmina. 

It was so stupid that Robbe was flustered over a smile from across the room. But somehow, it made him feel lighter for the rest of the day.

____

It was Thursday night, and Robbe was alone in his dorm room. Jens was out with Moyo and Aaron; they had invited him to come along but he had politely declined. 

He likes spending time by himself, just hanging out in his sparsely decorated dorm room. There are a few posters on the walls, most of them belonging to Jens. He hasn't had a properly decorated room since he was about 14, before he went to live with his grandma. And his room at his grandma’s had never really felt like it belonged to him, not feeling permanent enough for him to ever attempt to decorate. 

His side of the room had a simple desk where he kept all his school work and his laptop, a shelf where he kept all his books, and a dresser in the corner where he kept all his clothes. The walls he kept bare. Robbe never felt like he had a home, he hasn't really for a while. Everything in his life was temporary; his parents, his friends, nothing ever really stuck. 

He was laying on his bed, headphones in. He'd already finished all the work due for the next week, and usually he would be out with the boys, but didn't feel like it. 

His mom texted earlier that day, asking if he was going to come visit her. She was out of the institution, living in a small apartment in Hasselt. Robbe tried to visit her when he could, but he didn't feel like it. He texted her saying that he had to study, even though it was a lie. He could visit her later. 

Right now though, he needed to clear his mind. Robbe got out of bed, grabbing his jacket that was draped over his chair. He made his way down the stairs, and into the open quad area. Students milled about lazily, roaming from class to class, some in packs, and some, like Robbe, alone. He pulled out his phone as he walked, opening instagram to see stories from Moyo of him and Jens and Aaron all dancing at some house party. Based on how drunk they looked, Robbe was glad he declined. 

But still, he felt too sober for a Thursday night, even a Thursday night spent alone. So he wrapped his jacket tighter around him, and headed to the small corner store just outside of campus, and bought two beers for himself. 

As he wandered down the street, it got more evident to where the majority of the student body was. Robbe walked past a few house parties, then a few clubs, the sounds of trap music and cheers damped by the headphones slung over his ears. He finished the first beer, threw the empty can into a trash can at the side of the street, and cracked open the second. His mind was beginning to settle into a pleasant numb buzz, everything going a bit warm around the edges, like life didn't seem totally real. He finished his second beer, the last of the alcohol burning his throat. Robbe coughed, wiped his mouth and slid down the wall of whatever shop or bar he was leaning against. He slung his headphones down around his neck and leaned his head against the cool concrete, closing his eyes for a few minutes. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

Robbe opened his eyes to see a man hovering over him, a concerned look on his face. He looked mildly familiar, curly brown hair falling over his face. 

“I’m fine,” Robbe said, shutting his eyes once again. His head was pounding now, the wall cooling against his temples. 

“Doesn’t look like it, babe,” the man said, sitting down next to Robbe. “Im Milan.” Robbe opened his eyes to see the man holding out his hand out for a hand shake. Slowly, he took his hand, shook it once, and then dropped it again. “And who are you?” Milan inquired, nudging Robbe’s shoulder with his own. 

“Robbe,” he said, closing his eyes again, the thrumming in his temples becoming almost unbearable. “Robbe, Robbe,” the man sing-songed, “so, what's wrong, Robbe?” 

“I'm drunk, that's it,” Robbe mumbled, ransacking his curls out of his face. Beside him, Milan tutted disapprovingly. “That's never the real reason, honey. You're sitting on a street corner, drunk and alone.” 

He didn't plan on spilling his heart out to a complete stranger, but Robbe was drunk, and his heart had been hurting his entire life. 

“Boys like me are doomed,” he said, looking up to meet Milan’s eyes. “What does it matter if my life goes downhill and never goes back up?” Milan frowns. “What do you mean “boys like you?”” 

Silence. And then a shaky breath.

“Boys who like boys.”

Milan’s face fell, his eyes softening to a look of sadness. “Oh, honey no...” his breath hitched as he pulled Robbe into a hug. Robbe may be drunk off his ass, but for some reason he trusted this man he just met, sank into his warm embrace, one that was not unlike his grandmothers. Milan’s left hand carded gently through Robbe’s curls, the other hand holding Robbe firm against him, his face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

“You're not doomed, Robbe. I hate that you think that. There's nothing wrong with boys who like boys.”

“Then why has my entire life been shit?” Robbe said, his words muffled in Milan's shirt. “Why do I lose everyone I love, and the ones who don't leave, I end up pushing them away anyways?” 

Milan made a soft noise. “You haven't pushed me away yet.” Robbe laughed, pulling out of Milan's embrace. “That's because I hardly know you.” Milan laughed, and poked Robbe’s cheek. “Whatever.” 

Robbe sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. His head didn't hurt as bad as it did before, the pounding now calmed to a slightly uncomfortable hum. 

“C’mon baby gay, let me take you home,” Milan said softly, getting to his feet. He held out a hand to Robbe, who took it, and let Milan pull him to his feet. He immediately sumbled, crashing into Milan, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady him. Slowly they made their way down the street, Robbe tripping over his own feet and laughing, while Milan made sure he didn't face plant into the concrete. 

Milan led him to an apartment building that was a few blocks away. By this point, Robbe’s drunkenness had faded into tiredness, and he didn't even realize that Milan was taking him to his own apartment, as opposed to Robbe's dorm. He was leaning against Milan's side as they walked, looking up at the sky, his head on Milan’s shoulder. “Is it okay that i'm taking you to my place?” Milan asked, stopping in the lobby of the apartment building. Robbe nodded without really thinking, the only thing that he’s aware of was how heavy his eyelids are. He remembers Milan's hand curling around his waist, the jangle of his keys as he unlocks the door to his flat, and then, nothing. 

\---

Robbe woke up the next day, with a considerable hangover, and no fucking idea where he was. He sat up slowly, pushing the curls out of his face, looking around at the room he had spent the night in. It was a nice room, with white walls and wooden furniture and large windows that shone with the early morning sun. He felt surprisingly well rested, despite his hangover. The night came back to him in flashes; getting drunk and stumbling along the cold town streets, Milan, the conversations they had, stumbling back to his apartment, wasted. 

He sat up, suddenly so much more awake. He told milan, told this random guy that he was gay. Fucking hell. Two beers, that was all it took. His breath hitched uncontrollably in his chest as he stood up, quickly locating his shoes and pulling them on, along with his brown jacket which was discarded on the floor. He was panicking, and he knew it. It felt just like it had that day with Arthur, like he couldn't breathe, no matter how hard he tried. His brain was stuck on one thought: get out get out get out. It circled endlessly in his mind as he quietly opened the door, shut it behind him, and attempted to make his way quietly out of the apartment. 

“Hey, I know you.”

Robbe turned, startled by the deep voice that spoke behind him. Green eyes, blond hair. The boy was right in front of him, flesh and blood, wearing sweatpants and a Pink Floyd t-shirt, holding a cup of coffee. “You're that guy from the party last week, right?” he asked, his mouth twisting into a smile, “homemade beer boy, yes?” 

The panic in Robbe's chest dissipated as he slowly took a step closer to the boy. “Yeah,” he said, feeling a burst of happiness when the boy smiles wide, realizing he identified Robbe correctly. 

“I'm Sander,” the boy said, setting his coffee down on the counter to move forward and shake Robbe’s hand. “Robbe.” A handshake, a beginning of something. 

“So, are you one of Milan's?" Sander asked, picking up his coffee again, taking a sip. Robbe frowned. “What?” he must have looked confused, or something, because Sander laughed and said, “One of his one night stands,” as it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Robbe turned red. “What? No, no, definitely not,” he spluttered. “Oh, ok,” Sander said, taking another sip of his coffee, unfazed. The panic returned, as Robbe realized that he was stood in a strangers apartment, talking to the most beautiful boy he had ever seen, explaining to him that no, he didnt fuck his roommate. 

“I met Milan last night and i guess i was too wasted to go back to my place,” Robbe explained quietly. Sanders' smile brightened, "Ah, Milan does have a tendency to help people he has no business helping, especially queers in crisis.”

Robbe froze, Sander said it like it was nothing, like it was normal, like it was fine and simple. Sander turned his back to Robbe, put his cup in the sink, and when he turned back to Robbe, his face fell. “What's wrong?”

“I'm not- i'm not queer,” Robbe choked out, the fear and anxiety crawling up his throat, poisining his words. He could feel the heat on his face, nervous that Sander wouldn't believe, almost wishing that he wouldn't believe him. 

“Okay,” Sander said nonchalantly, “Of course you’re not.” He turned back to the kitchen, leaving Robbe speechless. He was still frozen as Sander started pulling pans down from the cabinets. He couldn't move, even if he tried to, his heart beating through his chest.

“Ah Robbe, you're still here!” Milan walked into the kitchen, grabbing a cup from one of the cabinets. “Do you want to stay for breakfast? Sander’s a great cook.” He turned and gave Robbe a bright smile before turning back to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

Robbe smiled a thin smile. “No, it's ok, I think i'm just going to head back to the dorms, i'm still a bit hungover.” 

Milan walked over and gave him a hug, Robbe instantly freezing up in his arms. The whole apartment, Milan and Sander, made him uncomfortable. It was a whole lifestyle that was completely alien to him. The easy smiles, the comfort and happy banter, so much acceptance that Robbe was completely unfamiliar with. 

“Can I give you my number?” Milan asked, pulling away. “In case you ever need someone to talk to.” Robbe nodded, and handed Milan his phone so he could type his number into robbe contacts. 

“Thank you,” Robbe said quietly. Milan smiled back at him with understanding. “No problem. Sander is right, you know. I’m very good with helping queers in crisis.” 

Robbe smiled. He needed to get out of this damn flat. 

“Bye, Robin,” Sander said as Robbe walked through the door. He made his way to the elevator, heart still pounding, breath going short. Everything about that made him uneasy, and sad for some reason. He was scared that Sander didn't believe him, and that Milan would tell him that Robbe did like boys. There was something about Sander that scared Robbe, something that made Robbe want to get to know him. His green eyes, his easy smile, it made Robbe want to be around him, just so he could be close to all that life and light. 

He was sad because he had that much life. 

Instead, as he made his way back to his dorm room, headphones pressed over his ears, blocking out the noise of the people around him, he thought about Arthur. Robbe should probably text him. Arthur was the only person from Paris that Robbe actually kept in touch with because besides now Milan, Arthur was the only person who knew about Robbe’s sexuality. They keep each other updated on their lives; Robbe knows that Arthur is going to medical school, is proudly bisexual, and dating a deaf girl named Noee who he met at a club. Robbe told him about partying with Jens and Moyo and Aaron, and studying science with Yasmina. It's nice to have Arthur to talk to. He still never explained to Arthur about that day he freaked out, and Arthur never asked. 

Robbe doesn’t let himself think about it too much; when Simon crosses his mind, he tries his best to strike the thought out. He'd gotten to a point where his way of dealing with things was to just ignore it, push it down until he didn't have to think about it. 

He made it back to his dorm room, opening the door to find Jens sprawled out on his bed. Jens sat up and said, “Hey man, where were you?” Robbe sighed and dumped his jacket over the back of his chair, flopping onto his bed. “I went to visit my mom,” he lied, covering his face with his forearm, “it got late so I decided to stay over. Sorry I didn't text you.” 

Jens sat up slowly. “It's fine. Moyo and Aaron wanted to go skating later. You want to come with us?” Robbe sighed, “I don't know.”

“Whats up? You've been avoiding us for a while, except on weekends when we all go out and get wasted. Is there something wrong? Is it your mom again?” 

“She's doing a lot better actually,” Robbe said. He felt guilty about lying to Jens. They were getting closer, after not seeing each other for 5 years. But he just can't talk about this stuff with Jens, it's easier to just lie. 

“Moyo got invited to this party tonight… you want to tag along?” Jens rolled over to look Robbe in the eyes. 

“Do we know whose party it is?”

“Some girl Moyo met last night,” Jens laughed. “Oh my god Robbe, you should've seen it. She's like, this cool art school chick, and he goes up to her, and he's all like, “hey girl, wanna dance?” and she was like “yeah sure,” and then he fucking dissapered for the rest of the night. And then he texts us this morning that he got invited to her party.”

Oh shit. Robbe hadn't checked his phone since last night. “Yeah I didn't see that… my phone has been turned off.”

“Oh okay. You want to come or not?”

He was going to say no, he was going to tell Jens that he was tired and had homework, but Jens looked at him with pleading eyes, and he gave in.

And that's how Robbe found himself in Moyo’s friend Noor’s backyard, holding a red cup, watching as loads of drunk college kids danced to the music pounding out of the speakers. 

One girl broke away from the group of college kids and made her way over to Robbe’s group, and Moyo’s eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“That's the girl!” Jens whisper-yells into Robbe’s ear. They both watch as she slides up to Moyo, snakes a hand around his waist, and pulls him onto the dance floor, Aaron catcalling as he walks away.

“Damn, she's so hot. I don't know how Moyo even got her,” Aaron babbles to Jens drunkenly. Jens raises his eyebrows quickly. “Yeah i guess,” he says, taking another swig of his beer. The three of them stand there for a bit, watching as Moyo and his girl sway on the dance floor. Aaron's eyes roam around, searching for a blond girl named Amber who he had been raving about to the rest of the boys for months. Once he spots her, he hits Robbe and Jens on the shoulder, then disappears after he enters the crowd. 

Jens turns to Robbe. “You want to get fucking wasted?” he asks. Robbe nods. He needs to stop fucking thinking about Milan and Sander, he wants to stop thinking at all.

They make their way over to the drinks table, Jens pouring two drinks, one for Robbe and one for himself. Robbe takes the drink from Jens and downs it in one go. Everything is starting to get blurry around the edge, the lights blending together into a mass of color. Jens’ eyes wander around the yard quickly, like he's looking for someone, but Robbe just gets another beer and knocks into his shoulder, bringing Jens back to the present. 

It's not fun; parties should be fun but at this point Robbe’s numb from all the beer and the yard is spinning and Jens took off a while ago when he spotted someone in the crowd, patted Robbe’s arm and left. He's on his fourth- wait no fifth beer- he doesn't remember how much he's drank actually. There's fairy lights strung over the yard like it's a freshman girl’s dorm room, and it turns the whole yard into magic, and Robbe’s slumped on the steps that lead from the porch down in the yard. The music is loud, some shitty rap song that everyone is screaming along to. This night was supposed to be fun. And here he is, alone and drunk out of his mind, laying across Moyo's girlfriend's steps. 

“Hey, Robin!”

He groans and tries to sit up.

“Hey, hey, you good man?”

Robbe slowly opens his eyes to see Sander infront of him, his white hair a mess of spun starlight underneath the porch light. Even in his blurred and drunk state, Robbe can make out the dark lines of eyeliner on Sanders' eyes and his crooked, concerned smile. He wants to reach up and smooth down that side of Sander’s mouth, tell him it's alright, that there's nothing to be concerned about. Robbe tries to do just that, stretching up his right hand towards Sanders' face. 

“Woah, Robin, maybe you should be getting home,” Sander says softly, catching Robbe's arm and lowering it back down. He moves to sit down beside Robbe, a sudden warmth next to him in the frigid September air. 

“I'm fine,” Robbe grumbles, resisting from leaning into Sanders' side. He tries to take another sip from his beer, but Sander snags it out of his hand before he can. “Hey!”

“No more alcohol for you tonight, ok?” Sander says, setting the bottles onto the ground in front of the steps. Robbe sighs and closes his eyes. The lights are becoming too bright. The way Sander's hair shines, all blurry and beautiful under the lights, it's something that Robbe can't handle right now. He's too drunk to be panicking about the fact that the most beautiful boy he's ever seen is sitting next to him, looking ethereal underneath the shitty fairy lights.

“You don't have to take care of me,” Robbe says, blinking his eyes open again. “I'm fine. Plus we barely know each other.” 

“I really don't mind,” Sander says.

“Really. You should go hang out with your friends or something. I'm fine.”

“Maybe I want to help you, ok?”

Robbe’s caught off guard. He scoffs. “No.” He tries to get up and leave, but the world spins and the lights blur and his head feels too heavy so he falls back onto the steps. Sander’s blurry face comes into view. “I'm taking you home, ok?” he says, and Robbe doesn't protest. 

He slings an arm around Robbe’s waist, and places Robbe's arm over his shoulder, and hauls both of them up and off the steps. They make their way through the crowd of dancing college kids, Robbe leaning his full weight against Sander's side. The lights hurt his eyes so he closes them again, pressing his face into Sander’s neck, and god he smells good, like vanilla and weed and oil paint. 

Robbe loses track of time. He focuses on his breaths, a steady inhale and exhale, as Sander carefully maneuvers him into the backseat of his car. Sander gets in the driver's seat and turns around. “Dorms?” Robbe nods and then closes his eyes. The drive to the dorms is fairly short, and once they get there, Sander helps Robbe out of the back seat and Robbe is sober enough to navigate them back to his dorm room. He fumbles with his keys for a moment as Sander waits patiently beside him, and finally with a click, they stumble into the dark room. 

Robbe throws his keys on his desk and flops down on his bed, his head spinning. He can hear Sander moving around, and sometime later Sander is sitting beside him on the bed, offering him a glass of water. 

“Thank you,” Robbe says quietly, hauling himself into a sitting position in order to drink it. He takes a few small sips, and then nausea hits him hard and he puts the glass down on the table next to his bed. He leans forwards and puts his head in his hands, taking Sander lightly touches Robbe's back, and then draws back as Robbe flinches away. 

“Are you ok?” 

Robbe groans and lays back down. “I'm just tired. You can go now.” From somewhere above him, Sander scoffs. “I'm not sure leaving you alone would be the best idea.” 

Robbe pushes his face into his pillow and groans. “Fine.”

Sander takes off his worn leather jacket and dumps it on the floor next to Robbe’s bed, then scoots across the bed so that he's sitting against the wall, his legs stretched out on top of the dark sheets. Robbe takes another deep inhale and flops over on his back so that he can look up at Sander. He's got a nice smile, Robbe realizes dimly. And a nice jawline and nice eyebrows. And before he realizes he's even doing it, he's reaching up and running his index finger along the arch of Sander’s eyebrow. Sander looks surprised, and Robbe pulls his hand away, stammering, "Sorry, I don't- I don't know why I did that.”

Sander laughs. “It's ok. Here.” He takes Robbe’s hand and brings it back up to his face, running the pad of Robbe’s index finger over the ridge of his brow. “There,” he says, dropping Robbe’s hand back onto the bed with a small smile. Robbe brings his hands to rest on top of his chest. 

“What’s your major?” Sander asks after a moment. 

“I'm studying to be a… nurse.” Robbe replies hesitantly. “Don't laugh!” he exclaims after Sander's smile starts to grow. “No, no, i'm not!” Sander says, putting his hands up in an ‘i surrender’ gesture. “That's actually really sweet, I just didn't expect it.” 

Robbe narrows his eyes. “And what did you think my major was?” Sander tilts his head, thinking, and after a moment says, "Hmmmmm, probably english or something.” Robbe laughs. Jens is a fucking english major, theres no way that he’s one as well. “Was it that far off?” Sander asks, smiling and raking his hair out of his face.

“No, it's just.. My best friend is an english major.” 

“The tall one with the dark hair?”

Robbe nods.

Sander laughs, “My best friend is an english major too.” 

Robbe feels something warm erupt in his chest, something like kindness and content. Sander slides down the wall so he's lying next to Robbe, both of them on their back, staring up at the ceiling. There's nothing like this, Robbe thinks. He's never felt so safe around someone, nevermind someone he's barely met. Sander turns to smile at him, and he hopes he isn't blushing because god, the effect this boy has on him. 

Robbe sighs. “And let me guess.. You're a fucking art kid, right?” Sander smiles and nods, his eyes going crinkly around the edges. “How did you know?”

Robbe turns on his side and rests his head on his forearm like it's a pillow. From here he can see the profile of Sander's face, the hills and planes of his nose, his cheekbones, the ash colored dusting of his eyelashes. “The doc martins,” he says sheepishly. 

“Of course”

“All the art kids have them,” Robbe says, shaking his head a bit. Sander nods, grinning. “Yes, we certainly all have the same taste in shoes, don't we?”

Robbe nods. “Makes you guys easy to spot in a crowd.” Sander's face lights up. “Yes I suppose that's true.” 

Robbe watches as Sander's smile fades slowly from his face. In the darkness of his dorm, Robbe can barely make out a subtle shimmer on Sander’s eyelids, a light silver, he thinks. He's never seen boys wear makeup before, but it looks almost natural on Sander. The smokey eyeliner and silver powder brushed on his eyes make him look like some kind of ethereal being. 

Sander turns to face Robbe, now both of them lying on the bed on their sides, heads resting on arms. Sander smiles at him, eyes almost closed. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

“Tell me.”

“Are you still drunk?”

Robbe shakes his head. “I don't think so. Now I'm just… I don't know, tired I guess.”

“Hmm.”

They lay there for a while, looking at each other. Robbe tucks his hands into the ends of his sleeves and pulls the hood of his sweatshirt back over his head. If he was completely sober, he would have been panicking so much right now. But instead, he's calm. Sander’s lips are quirked in a shy smile, and Robbe feels the ends of his mouth tug up instinctually, so he's smiling right back.

“I like your makeup,” Robbe whispers. 

“Thank you,” Sander replies softly. In the dark he can just make out the crinkly laugh lines next to Sander’s eyes. “Milan did most of it.”

“It's really good,” Robbe says, "I've never seen a boy wear makeup before.”

Sander’s face falls a little bit, and Robbe instinctively starts to panic. Did he say the wrong thing? Is that offensive? He doesn't know how to act with these things, it's not common for him to see people being comfortable with themselves. It's not a part of his world until he met Sander.

“... but you like it, right?” Sander says after a moment. He looks shy like this, not as much the cool art kid he met at the party who made Robbe a drink. 

Robbe nods. “Definitely. It suits you. And… you're really brave for wearing it.”

This time Sanders' face really falls. “It shouldn't have to be brave.”

“Oh, i'm- i'm sorry.”

“No, it's just- I shouldn't have to be viewed as brave for wearing makeup. It's just a part of who I am. I like how it makes me look and I like how it makes me feel. Who cares if people don't like it? I'm just trying to be authentic, you know? I'm not trying to be brave.” Sander looks small, smaller than Robbe’s ever seen him. It's like the light he carries, the way he burns so brightly, has dimmed a little bit.

“I didn't realize that,” Robbe says quietly. 

Sander laughs, but it sounds sad and hollow. “Yeah, it's fine.”

Robee smiles, trying to make Sander seem less sad. “Thank you for correcting me.” Sander smiles back, but it's tight-lipped and tense.

“I think you look authentic, and... beautiful,” he adds quietly after a second. 

It must be the lights shining dimly on Sander's hair, or the way Robbe feels so safe, despite the fact that there's fire running through his stomach and he'll probably have the worst hangover of his life tomorrow. He's never been this bold, not even with Arthur, but it's something about this night. The fact that Sander is ethereal and smells like vanilla and is lying in his bed makes Robbe want him even more, despite the inevitable fallout. 

Sander smiles shyly and tucks his head deeper into the crook of his elbow. “You're not so bad yourself,” he says, and Robbe can't stop the smile that stretches across his face.

Sander reaches out and runs a finger along one of the smile lines on Robbe’s cheeks, and Robbe’s heart skips a beat. 

“I'd better get going soon,” Sander says softly, dropping his hand from Robbe’s cheek. Robbe sits up, nodding. The magical moment between them has seemed to pass, even though Sander sits up, still smiling at Robbe with soft eyes. 

“Um, yeah.” Robbe gets up and walks to the door of his dorm room, Sander following closely on his heels, only stopping for a brief moment to pick up his leather jacket. “Thank you for giving me a ride back here.” He opens the door and leans against the frame as Sander puts his jacket on.

“No problem,” Sander says with an easy smile. “You were pretty out of it.” Robbe laughs. 

“Yeah, i don't think i'm gonna drink ever again,” he says with a mildly sarcastic tone. Or he should drink way more, if it gets him to be calm and collected around Sander. The white-haired boy across from him smiles. “Well that's a shame, since I remember someone who very much enjoyed my bartending skills.”

“You should know that I got very wasted that night as well.”

“Oh really?”

Robbe nods, crossing his arms over his chest. Sander smirks back at him. 

“That just proves that i'm a great bartender,” Sander says.

“I got fucking smashed and your mocking me?” Robbe says with a fake offence, putting his hand over his heart in a hurt gesture. 

“Well, I helped you the second time, didn't I?"

Robbe nods. “Yeah I guess that’s fair.”

“I guess,” Sander repeats. 

Robbe’s phone pings from somewhere on the small table next to his bed. Robbe leans over and sees that it's a text from Jens, but he can't make out the smaller text in the darkness of the room. 

“Right then, i'm going to go now,” Sander says, slowly inching out the door. “I'll see you around, Robin.”

Robbe stops in the doorway, watching as Sander walks backwards down the hall, a smile wide on his face.

“It's Robbe, actually,” he calls down to Sander.

“I'll see you around then, Robbe.”

And then he turns around and disappears down the hall. Robbe stares after him for a moment, before snapping out of it, going back into his room, and shutting the door. He's still smiling, and it's like he can't stop. He sits down on his bed, opening his phone to check Jens’ text.

Jens  
I assume you left bc i can't find you anywhere.  
I'll be back late so you don't have to wait up. 

Robbe texts back an “ok” and then shuts his phone off and puts it back on the table. Slowly, he takes off his shoes and throws them on the floor, his pants joining them a moment later. He lays back down on his bed, burrowing under the covers. And the tiredness hits him all at once; his eyes fighting to stay open, his bones heavy and aching for sleep after too many late nights spent partying or studying too late. He flips over onto his stomach, pushing his face into his pillow. It smells like vanilla, and weed, and something spicy like cardamom. It smells like Sander, he realizes. 

And with that last thought, Robbe falls asleep quicker than he had in weeks, with a content smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> First of all, I’m so sorry it took so long for me to update this. Apparently I write very very slowly.  
> I hope you enjoyed the second chapter! I really enjoyed writing the end bit (finally more sobbe interaction!) I really wanted to make sander a more extreme queer art kid in this fic because in my mind sander is really immersed in queer culture. Also yes I did switch into writing in present tense because it’s just easier for me :) Leave me a comment and let me know what you think of the story so far!  
> Stayed tuned cause the next chapter is even better (in my opinion)  
> Love you all! Stay safe

**Author's Note:**

> so here we are! I've been working on this fic for a while and I'm glad I can finally post the first chapter. a lot of this story will focus on Robbe's experience with sexual assault and how that effects him, especially his relationship with Sander. this maaaay have been mildly inspired by themoongirl's "the night we met" because I love a good college AU! hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> come yell with me about skam on Tumblr @ikhebdebrood


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